How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Blog

I graduated from college in 1999. I got my first office job that same year. I have never had to work in an office without Internet access (thank you, Jesus).

I honestly don’t know how I would have survived an office job back in the days before the Internet, when the only things sitting on your desk were a telephone, a typewriter, a Rolodex, and perhaps an ashtray filled with Lucky Strikes and polio (we’re talking about the olden days, after all). What did those people DO when they wanted to goof off/waste time and still appear to be working? Did they actually…work? All day long?WITH NO SLACKING?!? Greatest Generation my ass; that sounds pretty stupid to me. (Sorry, Grandma.)

Suffice it to say, I am pretty grateful that I never had to spend 9 hours in an office during those dark, polio-ridden, non-Internet-y days. I probably would have hung myself with my feminine hygiene belt in the back of the nickelodeon (remember: olden days) by week two. Yes, my friend the Internet has held my hand through some of the most horrific work weeks I have ever known. And with that, I present to you with “Why I Owe My Sanity to Sweet Lady Internet: A Memoir in 6 Parts.”

Part One: The Bank Job (a.k.a. Living With My Parents – or – The Year I Never Stopped Crying): It is 1999. I am working in a bank as an assistant to the President. Bitch crazy, and often throws things across the room, including but not limited to 1) her briefcase, 2) the contents of an entire file drawer, 3) an expired carton of Coffeemate. I soothe my rattled nerves by surfing my online bridal registry and copying plot summaries off of literary websites for the 8 million plays I am supposed to read before entering grad school the following year. President Bitchface later accuses me of being “distracted” by my wedding plans. Screw her.

Part Two: The Software Job (a.k.a The Job I Got Once I Dropped Out of Grad School – or – Maybe I Should Have Actually Read All Those Plays After All): It is 2001. I train for a month to learn how to sell software to companies that have contracts with my company. Meaning that they have to buy software off of us. So there is no real charisma required on my part, which is good, because I suck at my job. No one ever calls me to place orders, and I never have any work to do. Actually, there were quite a few of us who never have any work to do, so we openly waste hours upon hours on the Internet. This is where my Internet use really explodes. I discover The Onion, Television Without Pity, Bored.com, and MSN games. I am the world’s highest paid Alchemy player.

Part Three: Temping in New York City (a.k.a. My Soul is Dead – or – This City Hates Me): This particular level of hell lasts from 2001 until 2003. In these two years, I fulfill assignments at a publishing company, two investment firms, a law firm, E! Entertainment, Playboy Enterprises, the public library, and a very ironic assignment answering phones at…a temp agency. The highlights of my work life include meeting F. Murray Abraham at the library, and being required to sign a waiver at Playboy stating that I will not be offended if I see naked boobies around the office (note: there were a lot of naked boobies around the office). The Internet is my soulmate during these endless workweeks, and I add Fametracker, CNN, Tomato Nation, NY Newsday, Time Out NY, Playbill.com, Backstage.com, and James Lilek’s Gallery of Regrettable Food to my regular rotation of web surfing. My temp agent lies and tells one of my bosses I can do shorthand. I cannot, but must pretend I can in order to keep my job. Life is looking grim.

Part Four: I Move Away From NYC and Work in a Mall for a Year (a.k.a. What the Hell Was I Thinking? – or – I Am The World’s Worst Manager): From the spring of 2003 until the spring of 2004, I work as a manager at a store in the mall. I hardly ever email or sit in front of a computer. I am horribly out of touch with everything. Customers yell at me a lot. I yell back, and get worried that they will beat me up in the parking lot. I eat a lot of Chick-fil-A from the food court. Then I quit before they can fire me.

Part Five: The Marketing Job (a.k.a. I’m Back, Sweet Lover Internet – or – I Did Not Quit Before they Could Fire Me This Time): It is the spring of 2004. I take a job as an “administrative assistant” at a marketing firm. I do not realize until it is too late that I will be sitting at the front desk. Basically, they trick me into being their receptionist. They suck. I discover the “For Better or For Worse” comic strip archive. I shamefully read it in its entirety…twice. I get unceremoniously laid off as soon as the lady I am assisting comes back from maternity leave. They tell me that sales are down and they can’t afford me. I cry in front of all of them and fight off the urge to tell my now-former boss that her baby is ugly.

Part Six: My Current Job (a.k.a. Not So Much With the Details Because I Don’t Want to Get Fired – or – I Have a Mortgage Now): In the fall of 2004, I start working Here, and it is glorious. I discover blogs. Sweet, delicious blogs written by ridiculously funny people, most of whom are listed in my blogroll. I also fall in love with Flickr, Perez Hilton, Go Fug Yourself, and Weather.com, because I am a nerd. I might check For Better or For Worse’s website every morning, but that is probably an ugly rumor started by people who smell. Whatever. Don’t hate. And don’t pretend like you don’t read that shit too.

So, that brings us to Now, when I – Miss Technology – decide to be a trailblazer and start a blog at the crack of 2007. So forward-thinking, this one! It still remains to be seen if I will have the motivation to post regularly…but if past is any indication, I will be making hot, salty love to my girl Internet for years to come.

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I was perusing your archives, and I thought about how sad it was that no one had commented on your earliest posts. So here you go.

I would’ve done a comment on the first post, but you know, that seems so pathetic, to go alllllll the way back through someone’s archives. This at least gives me a shred of dignity.

That reminds me of one of my favorite jokes. When I eat corn on the cob, I like to eat the entire thing by ripping each kernel out by the roots, you know really stripping the sucker bare, with no half-eaten kernels, no starchy wet left over kernel guts. Then I leave a single kernel, and I go, “Man, I’m full! I can’t possibly finish this!”

Then everyone laaaaaaaughs, and I get all warm and squishy inside, because they like me now.